


to burn it like cedar.

by frostfall



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Hopeful Ending, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Jealousy, M/M, Minor Carol Danvers/Maria Rambeau, Minor Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Minor Tony Stark/Stephen Strange, Mutual Pining, Nomad Steve Rogers, Non-Linear Narrative, Post-Break Up, Vigilantism, past Carol Danvers/James "Rhodey" Rhodes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:47:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21886903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frostfall/pseuds/frostfall
Summary: He drops in around midnight again.Tony almost sighs at the sight of him bleeding all over his floor. There are many words on the tip of his tongue, words that should be said now. Later. Before.But like he always does, Tony swallows them down and shuffles into his bathroom.After all, it’s Steve Rogers. Tony could never deny Steve Rogers.(Or after radio silence, Steve turns to Tony for help. Tony does. It should be the end of it.And just like all those times before, it isn't.)
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 26
Kudos: 212





	to burn it like cedar.

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from ['I Need A Forest Fire'](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sAJgs1P-uUE) by James Blake and Bon Iver, which also inspires this story. So give it a listen!

He drops in around midnight again.

Tony almost sighs at the sight of him bleeding all over his floor. There are many words on the tip of his tongue, words that should be said now. Later. Before.

But like he always does, Tony swallows them down and shuffles into his bathroom.

After all, it’s Steve Rogers. Tony could never deny Steve Rogers.

* * *

It starts again on a Tuesday night. All because Tony forgot to shut his window.

Tony would've followed his shocked yells with a rain of pillows had Steve not ripped his helmet off his head and promptly passed out on the floor. For a long moment, Tony just stares.

There isn’t a day that goes by that he doesn’t wonder how they’d cross paths again. Maybe in a queue at a busy coffee shop or over beer and pool at a dingy bar downtown. Or even a chance encounter on the street when they’re older and wiser and freer to love.

But as always, Steve Rogers shows up like he always does – bleeding all over Tony’s maroon rug. After years of radio silence. Because he needs Tony’s fucking help.

The suit Steve is wearing is still that ugly shade of red, white, and blue that makes him look like a walking flag. Tony almost laughs because he shouldn’t have asked Steve’s input when it comes to colouring all those years ago.

His hands roam. There’s a gash on Steve’s side. It shouldn’t be there. Steve is wearing Kevlar and it shouldn’t be fucking there. Tony’s suit is one-of-a-kind and _fuck_.

It doesn’t take long for Tony to stitch him up. It’s a little messy and definitely not his best work. His hands aren’t built to heal. They are meant to build and craft.

He must’ve passed out immediately afterwards because the next thing Tony knows, it’s morning. He would’ve thought it was all a dream hadn’t it not been for the bloodstains on his couch and a crumpled note on his coffee table.

_Thanks._

Steve has never been good with the morning afters.

* * *

It should’ve been a one-time thing. Coincidence. An accident.

Like always, it isn’t.

* * *

Tony’s hands aren’t just meant to build or heal. They’ve hurt too. It’s a given, given his life. Being a Stark, there are always people out to get him.

Howard’s reactions to the fights Tony gets into at school are always bizarre, both approving and otherwise.

He’d approved when Tony come out the victor. “It builds character,” he’d say, nodding at the healing gashes and purple bruises marring Tony’s skin. “Toughens you up. Boys like you need to be roughen up once in a while. The real world isn’t kind to boys like you.”

Most of the time, Tony loses because he’s tiny and scrawny and there’s one of him and more of them. Howard would stick his nose up in the air at Tony’s wounds. Sometimes, he’d seize him by the collar and scream in his face. He’d always tell him how much of a disappointment he is.

Tony knows he’s a disappointment. He doesn’t need to be told that a thousand times and in a thousand different ways by a thousand different people.

* * *

Steve reappears four months later with another gaping wound at his side. It’s ugly and bloody and Tony’s hands are shaking.

"Jesus Christ, Rogers," Tony breathes as he helps him strip. “You need to go to the hospital. Or I’ll call Bruce or Hank McCoy. I can’t—”

Tony expects harsh words, maybe even a curse or two. Steve Rogers has always been that way, his anger and passion quiet and fierce like a blaze.

“I can’t,” Steve gasps instead. “No… No hospitals.”

“But—”

A feeble grip latches onto Tony’s arm, staining him in crimson.

“Tony,” Steve begins, sounding sure for the first time in forever. “You can.”

There’s something in his voice that fuels Tony’s with hope. He misses that tone, the tone that comforts his soul, even though he’s lost the right to it a long time ago.

So he tries.

* * *

After that, it becomes a ritual. Tony would leave his window open before heading to bed and rises when Steve pops in. It’s funny and terrifying how Tony could fall back into it.

“You do know that Bruce or Hank would be a better person for the job, right?” Tony remarks as he stitches Steve another scar. 

“I know.”

“Then why?”

Steve doesn't flinch, his dark gaze unwavering and knowing.

Some things never change.

* * *

Loving Steve Rogers will always be the death of him.

Loving Steve Rogers makes him feel like he’s worthy and safe. But Tony also worries and wonders and waits for the day that one of Steve’s teammates will darken his doorstep.

Loving Steve Rogers means having his fingers scroll through his feeds, hacking police radio scanners, buying every single newspaper he could get his hands on.

Back in the day, Rhodey would sigh and listen over cans of beer and takeout. Sometimes, he’d have something insightful to share. Other times, he just tells him how much of an idiot he is. Most of the time, he calls Steve an idiot.

But since Rhodey isn’t here anymore, it’s Carol’s turn to sigh and listen and call both Tony and Steve idiots. The only difference is that she prefers doing it at cafés and restaurants.

Today, she drags him to an Italian hole-in-the-wall that has the best pizza in all of New York. But pizza isn’t enough to make him glance up from his tablet.

“I’m designing him a new suit,” Tony says as a way of explanation.

Carol sighs, dropping her half-eaten pizza onto her plate. “I wish he’d leave you alone.”

Tony shrugs. “I’m thinking of getting rid of the red. Makes him less of a walking target. What’d you think?”

Carol knows him well enough to know when he doesn’t want to open up. So she picks her pizza back up and tells him how much of an idiot he’d be to not get rid of it.

* * *

Unsurprisingly, it’s Jarvis who taught Tony how to heal. Mend. Fix.

“I’m not always going to be there to help,” he explains as he bandages Tony’s hands for the millionth time. They’re in Jarvis’ room where Howard and Maria won’t find them. To them, his hands shouldn’t know how to heal.

Tony understands where Jarvis is coming from. He’s going away to boarding school in a year. He’ll be stuck at a school he doesn’t want to be at, far, far away from home and Jarvis and all the kids would hit him and he’ll be alone, so, so alone.

“I wish you could be there,” Tony mumbles, feeling both small and safe.

Jarvis manages a weak smile. His eyes crinkle. He looks twenty years younger when he does.

* * *

“What’re you mumbling to yourself?”

“I’m singing,” Tony answers as he dabs Steve’s wound.

Steve frowns. “Singing what?”

“Carly Rae Jepsen.”

"I thought you hate her music."

Tony lets out a sad laugh. “That was years ago. Things change.”

Steve sobers up at that, his smile fading. “Yeah.”

They don’t speak for a long time, the music filling in the gaps. At one point, Steve watches him, lips parted. Tony shuts his first aid kit and sends Steve on his merry way before he could breathe out another word.

The next day, there's a box of strawberry jelly-filled donuts on his counter.

 _Hope you still like strawberries_ , a note reads.

Tony’s lips curl upwards.

* * *

The TV plays the news. Christine Everhart is on-site, reporting about a human trafficking ring that the Defenders dismantled an hour ago. A photograph of the vigilantes pops up. It’s grainy and dark but Tony knows their faces like the back of his hand – Black Widow. Hawkeye. Daredevil. Power Man. Jewel.

Captain America.

“You did well.”

Steve barks a laugh at that. It’s as melodic as he remembers.

“Someone’s gotta do it,” he says, wincing as he picks up his mug of coffee.

Tony knows. It’s one of the reasons why they broke up in the first place.

* * *

They meet by chance.

Their meeting shouldn’t have happened. But Tony is sloppy when he’s half-drunk and fucking Tiberius Stone seemed like a good idea at the time. But of course, Tiberius Stone is a rat and fuck, Tony should’ve known better.

“Running away from your responsibilities, from your _destiny_ , to be a mechanic was already bad enough,” Howard sneers. “But to find out that you’re a _queer_?”

Tony’s cheeks sting. He wonders if Howard’s hair has always been this white. But it could be the streetlight, his blurry vision or the alcohol messing with his head.

“You always have been a disappointment.”

Howard raises his hand for the second time. Tony braces.

The slap never comes.

Tony barely recognizes his saviour, barely recognizes the murmurs uttered, barely recognizes his shaking body until his eyes fall onto the unmoving body on the floor.

“You killed him,” Tony whispers before his eyes drift upwards. Clear azure eyes look back.

“He’s alive,” his masked saviour says with warmth and concern and Tony knows he’s fucked.

The next night, both Howard Stark and Tiberius Stone are rushed to the hospital after being attacked by an unknown assailant.

Several days later, Steve Rogers waits for him outside his apartment with roses in hand and an invitation to dinner on his lips. Tony ignores the warning bells in his head and accepts.

He has never been good at listening to the bells.

* * *

“I have a surprise for you.”

Steve grins as he plasters a band-aid over a cut on his forehead. “You shouldn’t have.”

Tony rolls his eyes as he leaves for his bedroom, returning with the suit. Steve’s smile wanes.

“Tony—”

“Don’t. Just… Just try it on.”

Steve does. Navy blue and muted silver is a gorgeous combination on Steve. But he has difficulty adjusting the harness for his shield so Tony helps with that.

Steve’s breath fans his neck. The embers stoking in his stomach shouldn't be as comforting as it is. Tony makes a mental note to make Steve’s next suit magnetic.

“There,” he says when he’s done. He doesn’t make a move to step away. “Does it fit?”

Steve nods, his Adam’s apple bobbing. His breath tickles the shell of Tony’s ear, his voice hoarse. “Like a glove.”

A shiver runs down Tony’s spine. His fingers ache to touch, his lips to kiss, his body to surrender.

But he gathers himself, turns away, and makes plans.

* * *

Stephen Strange is nothing like Steve Rogers. Stephen is slender. Stephen has a goatee. Stephen’s hands are soft. Stephen’s lips taste of mint.

It’s why it’s easy to let Stephen foot the bill. It’s why it’s easy to let him take Tony home. It’s why it’s easy to kiss him goodnight. It’s why it’s easy for Tony to pull him into his room.

But then it isn’t and Tony’s heart suddenly aches for broad shoulders and smooth cheeks and callused hands and ketchup-stained lips.

“You’re not over them,” Stephen murmurs against his neck, his breath warm against his skin. Tony suppresses the urge to shudder. A shadow looms over them.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tony huffs, trying hard to not imagine blond hair and blue eyes. “Now are you going to fuck me now or do I have to do all the work?”

Stephen fucks him into the bed. The shadow doesn’t fade away.

* * *

Stephen is gone by the time Tony stirs, leaving behind a sticky note.

_Go to them._

* * *

Steve doesn’t turn up for a while. That means he’s fine.

Tony hates how crushed he feels. It’s normal for Steve to leave. Hell, this isn’t the first time he left, let alone the first person. Everyone leaves, eventually. That’s one of the curses of being a Stark.

So why does he feel so sad?

* * *

It’s at Carol and Maria’s wedding when Tony sees him again. Two months of fucking radio silence and here is the bastard, hale and hearty with a woman latched onto his arm.

Whoever she is ( _girlfriendgirlfriendgirlfriend_ ), she's beautiful, dressed in a flowy blue dress, her eyes bright and sparkling with mischief and her tresses cascading past her shoulders like the ethereal angel she is.

Steve watches her with that big smile of his that could light up anyone’s world and then there's worthless Tony in a plain tuxedo, who can’t compare and oh.

_Oh._

Tony would’ve made his escape if Maria hadn’t latched onto his wrist and hauled him onto the dance floor.

There’s an indie pop song playing, the two singers trading lines as the beat pulses. She sings about moving on. He sings about latching on. Tony thinks it’s fucking ironic.

So he closes his eyes and sways his hips like no one’s watching and _feels_.

As the song winds down to a close, Tony makes the mistake of opening his eyes. Steve doesn't turn away when he does.

* * *

The first time they break up, it’s Tony who initiates it. He can’t stand staying up all night, waiting for a man who might not survive the night.

The second time, Steve does it because a mafia gang is hot on his tail and Tony’s safety is all he can think about.

The third time, Tony dumps him right there and then in the abandoned warehouse because apparently he makes excellent leverage.

The fourth time, Steve leaves him for his own good because Tony is a stubborn asshole who is idealistic enough to play the hero.

The fifth time, Tony ends it again because he just buried his best friend and Steve is mortal just like Rhodey and New York isn’t Afghanistan but it’s close enough and he can’t, he fucking _can’t_.

“I love you,” he tells Steve as he pulls away. “But I can’t watch anyone else I love die. My heart can’t take any more.”

Steve softens, heartbreak and understanding written all over his face and Tony hates how resigned he is, how accepting he is.

 _Fight for me_ , Tony pleads. _Leave it all for me._

But Steve Rogers will never leave the fight for anyone. After all, being a fighter, a protector, is in his blood.

* * *

“She's beautiful," Tony tells him when Steve finds him on the balcony hours later. His fingers itch for something. A tablet, a drink. A cigarette. Maybe even one of Scott's sticks of weed or whatever the fuck he smokes these days.

"You think so?" Steve rasps. He takes a long swig from his whiskey glass.

Tony glances back, watching the brides twirl around the dancefloor. Tony wonders what Rhodey thinks of it all, of Carol finding happiness with someone that isn’t him. Rhodey would definitely be happy. He’s selfless like that.

Tony wishes he had a fraction of that goodness in him.

“I have eyes,” he says. “You don’t need to point that out to me.”

Steve seems to consider this. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s true.”

Their eyes meet again. Steve’s has always been too blue. Tony always felt like he could drown in them.

“She’s beautiful. She can do better than me.”

Tony could feel Steve’s gaze burn into his side. Tony wonders if he's talking about his girlfriend or someone else.

“Where’s your boyfriend?”

“What boyfriend?”

“The guy with the goatee.”

Tony sucks in a breath. “It was a one-time thing.”

He makes a point to stare down his glass. He doesn’t want to know what Steve’s thinking.

“Does she know?” he asks instead.

Tony doesn’t need to look up to know the answer to that.

* * *

He drops in around midnight again.

This time, there's no blood or wound. Instead, his breath stinks of alcohol and regret. It would've bothered Tony if he’s sober himself.

"I broke up with her," Steve says, half-slurring against the doorframe.

Tony’s heart skips a beat.

"Why'd you do that?"

Steve reins him in.

* * *

Steve has always been a force in bed, even more when he’s drunk. He attacks Tony’s lips like a wild beast, rim Tony like a starving man, clutches his waist tightly as he fucks into him like he’s afraid Tony would turn to smoke.

And after everything, he’d pull out gently, wrap him up in a warm embrace, press fluttering kisses onto his lips and neck— and—

Tony can’t. Not again.

* * *

“We can’t keep doing this,” Tony says when the sun rises.

“I know.”

“I can’t keep worrying about you. You’re not my responsibility.”

“I know.”

“You need to leave.”

The look Steve sends him almost breaks Tony. What does is the quiet click of his front door.

Tony doesn't remember his coffee tasting so salty.

* * *

And just like the changing seasons, Steve's out of his life again.

That shouldn’t be surprising. After all, that’s what Tony gets for having a fragile heart.

* * *

Tony drinks himself into a stupor that night and almost stumbles over to Steve’s.

Almost.

* * *

Tony and nostalgia haven’t always gotten along. Nostalgia has never been kind to him, hitting him in waves and waves until he drowns.

Which is why he stays up all night, puts on the Carly Rae Jepsen record and cries himself to sleep.

One night, Tony breaks it in half.

A week later, Steve winds up in the hospital.

Tony wonders if it’s karma.

* * *

“You should see him.”

Tony resolutely ignores Natasha. Once upon a time, he would’ve listened, would’ve definitely made a snarky comment, would’ve told her off for appearing at his workshop. But she’s part of that life and Tony isn’t meant for that life and he’s so tired, so fucking tired.

“He hates me,” he says from under the Toyota he’s currently fixing up.

Natasha sighs. “You two are the biggest idiots I’ve ever met.”

“Takes one to know one.”

Tony expects her to pull him out from the car and stab him with a knife.

She doesn’t.

They spend the rest of the morning catching up. She steals his coffee as she talks.

Like Steve, he misses her like the ocean misses the sky.

* * *

Steve leaves the hospital five days later. Captain America is never heard of again.

Some say he’s dead. Others say he’s retired. A fair few think he finally joined the mafia.

But Tony knows better. Steve will never abandon anyone who’s in need.

So as he watches the new Defender running around in tight leather, masked and unknown to the public, Tony couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride and pain.

After all, he’ll recognize that ass anywhere.

* * *

There’s a small part of Tony that knows this is not the end. They’re like gravity. No matter how far they drift apart, they always find themselves falling back together. It has happened far too many times already. Why should gravity stop now?

But days turn to weeks then months and years pass and all Tony has left are the memories in his head, glimpses of a masked face on a screen, and the realization that he’s a fool for thinking that he was saving himself from heartbreak.

* * *

He’s about to lift the dumpster lid when he hears a muffled groan.

Tony braces for Clint’s quips or Matt’s snark because only the two of them are idiotic enough to land themselves in dumpsters.

It’s Steve in that stupid suit of his, bleeding out all over empty cup noodles and used tampons. His mask hangs loosely over his face.

Tony almost falls to his knees. Instead, he drops his bags of trash, calls Bruce up, and prays Steve will live long enough for Tony to strangle him. A million thoughts rush through his mind.

_Why can’t you let someone else be the goddamn hero for once?_

_I’ll find whoever that did this to you and kill them._

_I'll always worry for you even when we're apart._

_Why can’t you just leave me alone for fuck’s sake?_

_I love you and I need you to be okay._

“You’re an idiot,” is what he says.

 _You’re my idiot_ , is what he means.

Steve grins, teeth stained in crimson.

* * *

“My mother,” Steve once says. “She was the one who inspired me. To be a Defender.”

Tony doesn’t stop sketching Steve’s chest with his finger. “She must’ve been a wonderful woman.”

“She was. The strongest woman I knew. She’d protect me when my dad got drunk. I only wish I could’ve done the same for her. There was only so much a kid can do.”

Tony pauses. There is nothing he can say that could comfort. He tries anyway.

“She knows you would’ve if you could.”

“You think?”

Tony nods. “Besides, you protect people who’re in need. I know it’s not the same but you’re honouring her that way.”

Steve doesn’t speak for several long seconds.

“I don’t deserve you.”

Tony snorts. “I’m the one who doesn’t. I’m nothing.”

Steve shakes his head, cupping his cheeks with his hands. Tony can’t make himself to tear away from those earnest blue eyes.

“Someday, Tony Stark, I’m going to prove to you that you’re worth everything. I’m going to erase every single thing everyone said to you to make you feel this way. Especially Howard.”

Tony pulls him into a kiss. It’s soft and affectionate and everything Tony knows he doesn’t deserve. Kissing Steve makes him feel like he does.

* * *

Bruce takes twelve minutes to arrive and twenty-six minutes to stitch Steve up. It’s thirty-eight minutes too long.

But he knows if Tony hadn’t called him up, Steve would be dead. Bruce’s hands are meant to heal, after all.

“He’ll be okay,” he assures Tony as he packs up. “He just needs rest.”

Tony snorts as he walks him to the front door. “As if he’d listen.”

Bruce chuckles, pushing his drooping glasses onto his nose. “Tony?”

He raises an eyebrow.

“Go easy on him.”

Tony doesn’t make a move to leave even after Bruce is long gone. He stands, stares down his neighbour’s door, and tries to think. Behind him, soft footsteps pad over.

“You should be in bed,” Tony says as he shuts the door.

“And you should be asleep. It’s late.”

“I’m not the one who got stabbed.”

Neither of them speaks.

There are heavy bags under Steve’s eyes and a wrinkle over his brow. He looks like he has aged more than he should’ve. He still takes Tony’s breath away.

“I should leave you alone,” Steve says quietly. “I should leave and never come back. But I can’t. No matter how hard I try, I just can’t.”

“I wish you could,” Tony murmurs. “I wish I could too. Leave. I wish I could be the one for you.”

Steve stares at him, his eyes dark and exhausted and tender. “You are, Tony. The moment we met, the moment we kissed, the moment we first broke up, I knew. It’s always been you.”

Tony shuts his eyes and doesn’t try to fight off the tears.

“I wish I could leave it all for you. I love you. And I want to. I want to so much. I want to be what you deserve.”

“We both know your chronic hero complex wouldn’t let you.” Steve chuckles. “And we both know you wouldn’t let me come with you.”

Steve’s smile fades. “I need you safe.”

Tony barks out an incredulous laugh because Steve has always been an idiot. “You wouldn’t be in my dumpster if that’s the case.”

* * *

They share the bed that night. Tony lets Steve pull him in his arms and intertwine their legs together. He lies his head over Steve’s heart. It skips.

“I love you,” Tony breathes into the dark.

The heart skips again.

* * *

The next morning, there’s a paper bag and a steaming mug of coffee on the counter.

“I got you bagels,” Steve says. There’s hope in his voice. There’s also hesitation. “Hope you still like the blueberry ones.”

It’s this moment when Tony realizes that this is his life, whether it’s meant for him or otherwise. They’ll always be in danger as long as Steve is a Defender. They’ll always worry about each other no matter how near or far apart they are. They’ll always be in love with one another for as long as they live. They were cursed the moment they met.

Tony smiles and takes a seat.

Steve mirrors him, hiding behind a sesame seed bagel. 

It feels like a maybe.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact, the song that Tony dances to at the wedding is ['On Hold'](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1_oA9UmRd4I) by The xx.
> 
> You can reblog this on Tumblr [here](https://kapteniron-archive.tumblr.com/post/189792594051/to-burn-it-like-cedar).
> 
> I'm also on [Tumblr](https://nethandrake.tumblr.com/) and [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/kapteniron)


End file.
